


Bear Me No Witness

by ZeroMonster



Series: Idiots to Husbands Series [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Dick's temper, Fake Marriage, Idiots to husbands, Jason's complicated relationships with the bats, Jaydick-flashfic: News, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Jason Todd, doesn't make a lot of sense but has a lot of heart, that's not how spouse privilege works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroMonster/pseuds/ZeroMonster
Summary: At first Dick didn’t know what he was seeing. Then it hit him like a railway.The headline was bad: Wayne Heir Caught Looking Under the Red Hood.The photo was worse: Red Hood and Dick last night in the alley. Not Nightwing. Dick. Both barefaced, Jason’s back to the camera.Bruce was going to kill them.Or: When a photographer gets lucky and captures Richard Wayne staring at a bare faced Red Hood, Jason comes up with an interesting way to deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Idiots to Husbands Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082039
Comments: 46
Kudos: 454





	Bear Me No Witness

**Author's Note:**

> This fic kicked my ass, but I’m really proud of it. Mostly because my beta turned it into something coherent. I love you Kdin!!!  
> Enjoy!

March 14th. 1:04 AM  
Old Gotham, Gotham 

There was only the sound of muted voices at first, an ambulance’s siren in the distance, and the ever present sound of cars. After a beat, the voices rang clearer and higher for a second before the clatter of a door echoed through the alley and all the way up to Dick on his perch on the building’s fire escape. Then, the sound of a motorcycle starting up and tearing through the alley. Dick was already moving.

Gotham’s roofs were a crossbreed between gothic slants and a modern jungle of metal. Gargoyles, spires, signboards, skylights, HVAC and CFM units should've made it harder to pursue criminals by foot, but Dick had learned to use these obstacles as an advantage from and early age. He was running on two hours of sleep and pent up anger but still the corners of his mouth pulled into a grin. Dick enjoyed the chase. 

When the man stopped in a deserted parking lot, Dick did so ten stories above. A kid of about fourteen emerged from a hole in the wall he hadn’t even noticed, and hesitantly approached the man who remained atop his bike. Nightwing rolled his escrima sticks in his hands as he observed the exchange below. 

They were called Legacies and they were the undearge version of Gotham’s gangs, kids forcibly picked up from the city’s Juvenile Detention to be the scapegoat of the scapegoat. The Falcone and Maroni families had come up with the idea long ago of creating all-child gangs in a sick reflection of the real mob. It was free since the kids were only paid with their ‘freedom’, and it was low risk since no one cared if they died.

“Are you sure you’re not too close to the case, Dick?” Tim had asked when they’d met at the Batcave a week ago, worried but trying to hide it. Probably in fear that Dick would react badly. Because Tim wasn’t wrong. 

It’d taken Dick years as Robin to willingly come near Gotham’s Juvenile Detention after his short stay inside after his parent’s murder. But as Nightwing he seemed to always pick up any case that even tangentially mentioned the place. 

The hard drive he’d obtained last night had provided him with a list of names of some of the children’s handlers, and the schedule of when they were going to meet with the child 'leader' in turn. 

The kid scurried away and Dick compared his face to the photos in his files.The boy wouldn’t go back to juvie. Before the man could kick up the bike, Dick jumped, twisted and threw one of his sticks. When he landed the man was already howling on the ground and cradling his broken foot. 

As he approached, the man started shooting at him and forced Dick to evade his wild shots, it gave him enough leeway to get back on the bike. "Why do criminals want their deaths to be stupid _so badly?_ ," he grumbled. 

He threw a wing ding to the back tire and a batarang slashed the front one. Dick glared at the shadows. He caught up to the unconscious criminal and then someone caught up to him. Red Hood’s helmet stared blankly at him as he offered him his lost escrima stick back. 

Dick took it. It was a mistake. Jason used the split second his guard was down to snatch the criminal from his grip and throw him against a far wall. Dick growled in frustration, Jason better had not given him a TBI. He needed that man’s confession. 

"We need to talk," Red Hood said, tense, then slowly relaxed his posture, making himself as non threatening as he could be. Dick was too angry to appreciate it. Without waiting for his response, Jason plowed forward. “We have a problem. And before you say anything, yes, _you and me_ especifically. No, no one’s dead. And no, it wasn’t my fault.”

Oh, so he meant it like Batman meant _we need to talk_ , so Dick was just going to have to listen. Screw that.

“I can hardly wait to hear it,” Dick said, sarcastically. He really should’ve expected Red Hood to crash his case after what happened last night.

“Asshole,” Jason grunted.

“I told you I'd fucking take care of this,” Dick said through gritted teeth. 

Usually, Red Hood would’ve brought up the swagger then, to rub it in that he could and would crash land into any case he deemed worthy of his attention, but he only looked over his shoulder at the leader of a gang of kids like he’d forgotten he was there. 

That was what set off all the alarms in Dick’s head. Jason didn’t treat cases that involved kids with less than absolute ruthlessness. Jason _hadn’t_ , twenty four hours ago.

“Won’t lie, I would’ve followed you tonight even if the shit hadn’t hit the fan.” Red Hood shrugged. “But I need your undivided attention now, Boy Blunder. Have you read the papers?”

The nickname slipped past him because he realized that Jason was stalling, and that was so far out of character that it actually gave Dick pause. There was a beat of silence and Dick realized Jason was actually waiting for his answer.

“Not in the last three days, no,” Dick said with a pointed tilt of his head at the unconscious crook. 

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this part.” Jason sighed and it translated into a weird electronic sound. Dick noted vaguely that the bomb that Jason used as helmet was not meant for little noises like sighs. 

Jason unzipped his tanned leather jacket and drew out a honest to god newspaper. Dick threw it a skeptical glance and Jason shook it in exasperation before unfolding it and showing him the front page.

At first Dick didn’t know what he was seeing. Then it hit him like a railway. 

The headline was bad: _Wayne Heir Caught Looking Under the Red Hood_.

The photo was worse: Red Hood and Dick last night in the alley. Not Nightwing. Dick. Both barefaced, Jason’s back to the camera.

  
**Wayne Heir Caught Looking Under the Red Hood**

By Julia Remarque 

March 14th, Gotham 

Readers, this past March 13th one of our photographers, Joey Day, succeeded in taking one of the most infamous vigilante/superhero pictures in the last decade (front page, center), baring everything with Superman in it. 

After wrapping up his job at a high fashion store’s opening, Day managed to capture the Red Hood on camera. This in on itself is not unheard of, as abundant as vigilantes are in Gotham City. What was remarkable was the company the vigilante kept: Richard Grayson, better known as Richard Wayne, eldest son of Bruce Wayne. 

This unique encounter of two people who, granted, may as well represent the two polarizing sides of our city, was noteworthy, but certainly not newsworthy. 

At this point must of you, if not all, already know where this is going: The Red Hood was captured on camera without, well, the red hood. 

I’m sure the same question is going through all of our heads right now: Had the Red Hood ever shown his face before? 

I can say with authority that the answer is no, not to the general public. Why does Richard Wayne seem to be the exception, then?  


Bruce was going to kill them.

**

March 13th. 11:10 PM (last night)  
Fashion District, Gotham 

Dick’s throat felt raw from fake laughing. There was a reason he only did this mingle-with-the-rich-and-powerful-thing-to-protect-the-family’s-secrets once a year. He’d tried to circumnavigate it this year and it’d come back to bite him in the ass. 

Since he’d left Gotham at nineteenth he'd become wary of Gotham’s press, of the way the spotlight felt so different from the one he’d loved as a kid. But now that he spent half his time in Gotham and the other half in Blüdheaven with Cass, he had yet to relearn how to swallow this much vapid glizzingness. 

At least fundraisers raised money for a cause, what was a new fashion brand’s store opening event supposed to be? Dick only knew that he’d been forced to let people fix his hair and dress him up for a red carpet in the middle of the street. 

Later, Dick would wish the only thing the newspapers and internet forums discussed about that night was his outfit. 

Dick had done this to himself when he’d starred in the Gotham-owned brand’s short film collaboration with Vogue, and the invitation for tonight’s event had arrived just for him. Since the World’s Greatest detective had discovered Dick had chosen to appear in the promotional film as a way to get out of his _mandatory public appearances_ , he’d made him come alone. 

So there was no one on site as backup when Dick recognized a face that had been staring at him from his wall for weeks. He’d hanged up her mugshot and a dozen others alongside the notes on his current case on the pinboard at the back of his safehouse. 

She was a low level member of the gang he was breaking down, probably why she had the boldness to attend a place with so many cameras, but Dick had done a thorough job; he knew the face and name of every single person in their operation, he could identify the people who delivered their food, every innocent and not so innocent person who'd made contact with them for the last three months. He knew the name of every kid they'd recruited from Gotham's Juvenile Detention as cannon fodder.

It’d been a while since a case got to him like this and turned his emotions into an oil slick. Dick had deftly made it fire resistant. 

But when the woman disappeared via a back exit after the second round of champagne had been served, he followed after her. He shadowed her through back alleys until she stopped and leaned against a wall to make a call.

“It’s me,” she said. “Yeah I went, was seen, let them take a couple photos. Airtight alibi, should I drop it to you now?” She pulled a hard drive from her dress pants’ pocket. No criminal uploaded their data to the cloud, Dick thought grimly. 

There was a sound on the roof: tiles being disturbed. She startled, craned her neck up to the night sky in search of _him_. No one trained more than a week by Batman would’ve made half as much noise by accident, and Dick, who’d been Robin, fell back on the rhythm of working with a partner and didn’t hesitate when she turned her back to him. 

He clamped a hand over her mouth, immobilizing her head, and used the other to fish out the hard drive. She had half a second to struggle before Dick’s unexpected partner arched into a jump and dropped down to meet them. Heartbeat racing in his ears, Dick thought: shit.

Jason didn’t give him time to think of anything else before he cut the woman’s airflow with a jab to the throat. Dick stepped back, cursing. The woman bowed forward and Jason raised a knee to meet her diaphragm, driving the remaining air out of her lungs. She toppled to the ground and Dick couldn’t find in it in himself to object beyond pressing his mouth into a thin line. 

Jason, in contrast, was tense like a bull before a fight, hands clenching and unclenching, even the helmet’s blank faceplate was somehow condemning. Dick furrowed his brows slightly. 

“You’re going after a criminal dressed like _that_?” Jason growled. His words had more than one meaning. 

Dick adjusted the hem of his sleeves as he considered him. He meant that he was not in the Nightwing costume, so he shouldn’t even be here. But he probably just loathed his clothes for being everything Jason hated: lavish, impractical and laughably expensive. Dick purposely decided to ignore the first meaning. 

“It’s not my fault that they put me in a crop top,” he hissed.

“Well, it’s _someone’s fault_.” Jason snapped, glaring at the low cut crop as if he wanted to set it on fire or rip it off him. Dick was very conscious of everywhere where the black silk brushed his skin, below his ribs. 

Jason closed the distance between them in two long strides, crowding Dick against a wall. For a second Dick didn’t understand what Jason was doing, but when he caught up on the intimidation tactic he threw him an irritated glance because the looming was restricting his movements more than the clothes were. 

Jason, understanding that he wouldn't get any other reaction from him, reached back and took off his helmet. He wasn’t wearing the domino mask. The shock of Jason’s eyes on him was enough to make him falter. 

“Your pants are practically painted on,” Jason said, and his voice wasn’t so much dirty as it was grit. “What're you doing here, Dick?”

“What are _you_ -” he started, but then Jason raised his hand to Dick's neck and readjusted the clasp of the dainty silver chain they'd made him wear. Dick rolled his shoulders back to dislodge his hand, the action markedly masculine, then frowned when it made Jason smirk.

“Isn’t this a little gay?” Jason asked, voice low, giving the chain a little tug. 

“It wasn’t,” Dick said, evenly. “Until you shoved your hand in my pants.”

Jason had sneaked his hand into Dick's pocket, looking for the hard drive. Dick clamped a hand on Jason’s wrist before he could pull his hand out. Someone who wasn’t looking for it wouldn't have noticed Jason’s wince. But Dick had been able to swing his mom and hold her weight for their trapeze routine as a kid, since then he’d had the life of bigger, heavier people on his hands. He knew exactly how much force his grip could exert.

“Listen to me,” Dick whispered. “I’ll take care of this. Jason look at me, they’re getting the kids from juvie, you _know_ I’ll take care of this.”

Nearing Jason’s last days in his Robin career, after Dick's anger at Bruce for replacing him had long settled, Dick had remotely hacked the Batcomputer and accessed Jason’s file. Apparently, when Batman had first found Jay stealing the tires of the Batmobile, he’d tried to put Jason in a boarding school for troubled kids, it backfired because the owner of the school was actually running a training ground for youthful criminals. Dick understood this was personal for Jason too.

Jason jerked his arm back and Dick let him go.

“You don’t have an exclusive right to these cases, Dick,” Jason said. 

Dick opened his mouth and then closed it, considering if Jason letting him have the hard drive made him a hypocrite or not.

“See you soon, Goldie,” Jason snarled, already halfway to the rooftop.

Dick decided not to say what he was thinking aloud. 

**

March 14th. 2:20 AM  
GCPD Headquarters, Gotham

Unfortunately, the children's gang handler was not going to surrender himself to police custody so Dick still had work to do. Jason followed him and waited for him on the precinct's roof because he was immune to the fact that he was, technically, still a wanted criminal in Gotham.

"I'm talking to Gordon in five minutes," Dick said as he joined him. "What's the damage?"

Jason turned his head and Dick quelled his frustration at not being able to see his face - and when had that become a problem? 

"You missed all the excitement while you were holed up in your safehouse. What's the point of being Oracle's favourite if you don't find out about things?” Jason asked.

Dick clenched his jaw. Jason snorted.

“They want you to tell my identity to a court,” Jason continued. It felt a little like the times Jason had punched him in the face. Dick spared a second to entertain the idea that Jason was messing with him, but if the consequences of their screw up weren’t dire then why else would Jason still be here?

“They?” He heard himself ask.

“Black Mask's lawyers,” Jason said, tone dark. Dick really fucking hated that guy. 

Dick was reluctant to admit it, but that was more congruent with Gotham’s legal system than they suddenly becoming interested in a vigilante’s secret identity and deciding to press charges for - for what? Jason had done an awful lot of terrible things, there were certainly many crimes they could lock him up him for. Dick suppressed a sigh. 

“That's not happening,” he said instead.

“Obviously.” Jason paused for a beat. “I have an idea. A non lethal one, even.”

 _No_ , it’s what Dick wanted to say, or maybe, _hell no_. But - but Jason had been a bright kid, a bright Robin. When he came back his acumen on the field was unparalleled, and as much as it was heart wrenching sometimes, Dick had found himself impressed by what Jason’s brain could come up with. He was still going to say no, but all this made him hesitate, and Jason pounced. 

“Unless you want to use daddy's money and lawyers to fight back…”

Dick winced, he hadn't know this conversation was going to be painful. He should’ve known better. 

Dick didn’t have enough money to pay for the army of lawyers and consultants that building a case like this was going to take. Bruce had, of course, created a trust fund for him when he’d turned 18, but accepting money from Bruce for non-essential things -- namely, everything that wasn’t vigilante gear -- had always left a bad taste in his mouth. So when Damian had come into his care, he’d used it to create Bruce’s son a trust fund. Bruce had yet to mention it. 

Jason certainly had the money, but Dick was positive he’d never use a cent to aid himself. And besides, it was _Dick’s_ name in the papers. 

“Non lethal you said?” he asked. He couldn’t see Jason’s smug expression but he had no doubt it was there.

“Leave it to me,” Jason said. “When’s he coming back?” There was no question as to who he was referring to.

“In a few hours.”

“Then this is about to become interesting,” Jason said, taking out his grappling gun.

Dick watched him go.

**

After Jason had stopped plotting ways to kill them and reached the unsteady truce with Bruce they were all inhabiting, Dick’d had to make a choice. He could’ve either let his paranoia free and kept Jason at arm’s length and even further away from the children, punched first and asked questions later. Or, he could’ve tried to wrestle the idea that Jason could coexist with them into his mind.

He’d tried the first one for a while, and Jason had made it easy, but Dick was shocked to find that he couldn’t do it for long. He was even more shocked to discover that it wasn’t out of guilt. He wasn’t ready to uncover what was greater than his guilt when it came to Jason Todd. 

But now, Dick was wishing very hard he’d never strayed from plan A.

“Married?!” Dick had cried out when Jason had told him what he’d done.

**  
March 15th. 7:56 PM  
The Batcave, Gotham

“ _Married_ ?” Bruce asked now, growl rough like the Cave’s tunnels. 

Bruce had demanded their presence under Wayne Manor, and despite how both of them balked at orders when they were in a temper, here they were, freshly changed into costume. The paper of this morning laid between them above an unsorted array of gadgets and batarangs on a workbench.

  
**Saving face? Gotham’s Latest Whirlwind Romance**

By Warren Spencer. 

March 15th, Gotham 

The construction of the case to uncover the Red Hood’s identity reached an abrupt halt last night when an anonymous source from the civil registration office leaked what appears to be Richard Wayne’s marriage certificate to the Red Hood. 

Hours later the couple had already been dubbed Gotham's Latest Whirlwind Romance. Amidst this, the vigilante proceeded to hire an attorney to assert spousal privilege and effectively ensure that Richard Wayne could no longer testify against him. 

The timing is suspicious, so we talked with Gotham’s new District Attorney Kate Spencer, famous for her high profile clients like Wonder Woman, to clear some of our doubts about this.

Q: Just for clarification, the entire case hinges on Richard Wayne’s testimony, am I correct?

Spencer: From the notes I’ve seen about it, that seems to be the case, yes.

Q: Alright then let’s asks the obvious question: Is this marriage even legal? 

Spencer: That question is too vague and has many answers, but I understand what you’re asking. Is it legal to use an alter ego to get married? There isn’t really a good answer for that, as this situation is unpreceded. If we assume that the Red Hood started his life with a mundane identity and then adopted the one he uses now, then he strictly speaking never stopped having a full-fledged legal identity, in which case, his marriage is technically legal. 

Q: What happens if the court decides that the Red Hood and Mr. Grayson commited a felony?

Spencer: Then they make the case that since the Red Hood isn't an identity that can get married, then it's not an identity that can go to prison. 

Q: So, this case is interesting because we don’t see much of spouse privilege these days. Can you tell us about it?

Spencer: The " **spousal privilege** ” is the right to refuse to provide evidence or testify in a legal proceeding against your spouse. It can be asserted by either parties in a marriage, and it’s 100% valid in a court. 

Q: So, is there any other way to get the Red Hood behind bars? 

Spencer: Well, I guess they could catch him and unmask him. [She laughs].

Q: Right. [Laughs]  


Batman glared at them, doing his hardest to wring a logical explanation out of their silence. His anger had always been low simmering and frigid, a strong contrast to Jason’s who, when angry, was wildfire made flesh. Ironically, they were more similar than either of them would’ve liked -- weren't they all? -- and fortunately for everyone, both had an iron clad grasp on their rage and coped by directing it towards a goal. That goal right now, though, seemed to be to make Dick’s life miserable.

Dick’s anger was tempered by theirs but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. His chest burned with shame, he'd thought he was done with Bruce’s scolding when he'd left the pixie boots. He couldn’t swallow the humiliation Jason had made him go through, it sat on the back of his tongue, threatening to choke him. 

They weren’t even looking at him, too preoccupied with glaring at each other. Dick could practically feel them shaking with the words and hurt trapped under skin and bone.

“It’s not really any of your fucking business, is it?” Jason asked, voice raw as if he’d been screaming. “I don’t care what you think, I no longer answer to you. I’m not your good little soldier anymore,” Jason said, throwing a dirty look at the case with the Robin uniform. “And neither is Dick. Is he?” He continued with a drawl. 

It was how he said it: mocking, cruel, like he was sure he knew the answer and just wanted to twist the knife. Dick knew with sick, sudden clarity that Jason hadn't done this to protect his identity, he probably couldn’t care less, he’d done it to take something from Bruce. To hurt him. Dick was just a pawn. 

Jason’s anger wasn’t the only one that birthed flames. 

“You son of a bitch,” Dick hissed, knowing there was a snarl on his face, and Jason snarled back, reflexively.

“That's twenty dollars for the swear jar," a voice interrupted and Dick turned to face the newcomer. Jason did the same, and promptly went still beside him. 

"Clark," Dick said. "I love you, but if you don't shut up I'll punch you in the face." 

"Get out," Bruce snapped. 

Clark raised an eyebrow. "All right," he said. "I'll just," he lifted the tray he was holding and continued to float until he was near enough the workbench that he could put it down next to the newspaper.

"And why did Alfred send _Superman_ with the 'intervention' tea?" Jason asked. 

"Probably because he knew I wanted to see you," Clark answered easily.

Jason's expression went pained in response, and for a second Dick didn't want to punch him. He usually forgot that Clark had helped raise Jason as much as he had with Dick, and nothing was really the same for him after Jason had died, either. 

Bruce grunted somewhere behind them. Dick had spent his childhood deciphering Bruce’s way of communicating via grunts, so he knew this one meant defeat. 

"What do you think about," Bruce asked, lifting a hand to encompass Jason, Dick, and the newspaper.

"Gotham's Latest Whirlwind Romance?” Clark asked, turning to face him. “It's a legal nightmare. But I'll tell you the ripples of this reached Metropolis. Lois' been having a field day interviewing experts in Superhero Law."

"Superhero Law," Bruce repeated flatly.

"It's more of a thought exercise than a real specialization like Administrative, or Intellectual Property Law," Clark said, shaking his head. "Although, new ATC regulations and airspace laws did get written after Superman flew for the first time," he finished, amused. 

"What about writing new laws for alter egos?" Bruce asked, grim.

Everyone knew that Harvey Dent was Two-face, that Scarecrow was former psychiatrist Jonathan Crane, that Harley Quinn had been doctor Harleen Quinzel, and so forth. This knowledge meant that: one, gothamites distrusted mental health professionals, and two, they didn’t question the real identities they were not privy to, they assumed they’d find out if they needed to find out. 

Although, people still speculated about the vigilantes' identity in Reddit. This went double for Batman and his associates, and as much as Jason liked to reject his link to the family, he’d put a red bat on his chest. That was a big statement as any.

"Honestly, we don't know yet,” Clark said, growing somber, he addressed Jason and Dick again. “You might have to keep this up until the worst is over. And I mean it. You should probably discuss where you two are going to live.”

“What the hell does that have to do with-" Jason started, bewildered. "Wait, _us_?” 

Dick, who already saw where this was heading, interrupted him. “Surely they won’t know that we’re not living together,” Dick pleaded, looking at Clark, trying his damndest to project how sorry he was for snapping at him. “What’re they gonna do? Trace Gotham’s most dangerous mob boss’ address?”

“You are aware this started because neither of you spotted the amateur reporter that photographed you,” Bruce cut in, voice smooth. Dick could feel his face heating, in shame, or anger, or both. “We can’t risk someone finding out more that what is already on the news,” Bruce finished. Or Dick thought he had, but then: "And you'll need rings," Bruce continued. 

That seemed to snap Jason out of his brief horror-induced daze and he began to protest, spluttering. 

"It can't be worst that the time I renounced my american citizenship," Clark said, supposedly reassuring. 

Bruce grunted again.

**

After they were dismissed and changed into civvies, Dick could no longer keep it together. His chest felt tight, breathing was laughably hard and his head felt stuffed to the brim. He walked to his motorcycle and picked up the helmet. He assessed himself. Was he good to drive? The answer was yes, he’d ridden this thing while dizzy from blood loss. 

Jason followed him and threw a leg over his own bike. He started, “Dick, listen-”

“I'll see you later,” Dick mumbled.

“What?”

“Later, Jason,” he repeated more forcefully and started the bike. 

“Hey! Where the fuck are you-” 

Dick didn’t stay long enough for him to finish.

**

March 15th. 10:19 PM  
Newtown, Gotham

Dick’s strongest urge when he finally dismounted his bike was to jump from a very high building. Instead he began walking, adrift, until his footsteps led him to a building with rough paintwork illuminated only by age-speckled lights. He pushed the door to the bar open. Feeling a little like shattered glass, Dick let himself drop onto a barstool. 

He didn't usually drink. He’d gotten black out drunk only twice or so: when Donna had died, and the day that marked the first year they’d mourned Jason. Dick shaked his head to clear it, he needed a few drinks in him before he could even let himself think about Jason. Regrettably, other thoughts jumped immediately to the forefront of him mind, and each one hurted more than the last. 

He ordered three tequila shots to start: one for Kori, one for Babs, and one for himself. Then he switched to whisky.

Dick had always wanted to get married, it was no use denying it. He’d loved Kory so fucking much, being with Barbara had always felt right, but Jason. God, he couldn't stand Jason. 

No, that was not-- he cared about Jason, he was family, Dick would do terrible things for him, but. But-- 

_Married_.

He continued drinking until the patrons’ laughter began overpowering the jukebox. 

"One stung, twice shy, huh?" the bartender suddenly said, voice rough from smoking.

"What," Dick slurred, and wondered if he should go home.

"I know that look, it's a love thing right?"

"No," Dick said, bitterly. It wasn't, that was the problem.

"Then it can't be so bad."

"You cutting me off?" Dick peered at him.

"Read my mind."

"Yeah," Dick said, deposited a few crumpled bills on the counter and stood up. "Yeah."

***  
March 16th. 3:06 AM  
Newtown, Gotham

Even the stupidest criminal can get lucky. 

Dick decided to forgo the bike due to his state and began walking to clear his head before catching a taxi to his safehouse/apartment. Even inebriated he could tell someone was following him, it was like a heavy weight around him. Dick used a few shortcuts to shake them off and tried to pass it off as a drunk getting lost. But as he said, lucky.

When someone forcefully grabbed his arm, he reacted. He broke his assailant’s fingers and as he screamed Dick threw him to the ground. When a second man rushed him with a knife Dick stepped out of his line and into the path of a third man who, embarrassingly, managed to put him into a chokehold. That was when Dick realized with a start that while the adrenaline running through his bloodstream was sobering him fast, it wouldn’t be fast enough. 

Then pure instinct kicked in, and with Dick’s training that meant that the power imbalance shifted. When he came back to himself a few moments later his knuckles hurt, blood was dripping from them and he could still feel skin and cartilage breaking under them. Fighting to work through his frustrations was nothing new to him, as fucked up as it sounded, but this was sloppy, messy, nothing like his work in the Nightwing suit. 

Dick felt his blood turn to ice. A memory from when he’d been still Robin, half forgotten, now came to him. Bruce had been in one of his self destructing moods, and during patrol Batman had been gassed with Joker's toxin. Back then, Dick hadn't thought there wasn a single thing in the world that could make Batman _slip_. It was just for one second, a-little-too-brutal strike, the perp would walk again, but Bruce couldn't meet Dick's eyes for the rest of the night. 

Dick closed his eyes, and worked his jaw in resignation. He couldn’t finish this fight sloppy-drunk, or he would regret it. When one of the men recovered enough to attack him, Dick let him. 

***  
?

Dick woke up tied to a pipeline on a basement and was immediately assaulted with the strongest urge to puke he’d ever felt in his life. 

“Oh god,” he groaned and immediately regretted it, arrested by a coughing fit. He couldn’t help it, he threw out all the contents of his stomach which were almost all alcohol, anyway. Blood seeped from his busted lip and his bruised ribs hurt like the tips of a dozen knives were trying to pierce him from the inside.

When he straightened he already knew two things: one, he was alone, and two, he’d been drugged. The pounding in his head wasn’t the usual blunt trauma-induced headache, but sadly it was likewise familiar. 

He opened his eyes to figure out where he was, one of his eyes was already swelling shut. The basement wasn’t dilapidated like he’d been expecting, but it was still dark and bare, the dust of new construction freshly set on the floor. There were no windows but Dick already had an idea of his location. An up and coming private constructor had bought an abandoned lot and built new apartments near the Coventry. They had a nice view of Arkham Asylum across the river.

Dick fought against the lingering drowsiness to consult his biological clock, adjusted it to account for the stuff that usually knocked him out, adjusted it again for the common narcotics that were actually in his system this time -- and which he had a tolerance for --, got a headache, and realized it didn’t matter. These guys didn’t have Nightwing, vigilante, just Dick Grayson, glorified billionaire ward. No one would die if he took a moment to swallow in anger and self pity. 

He spared a few seconds to catalogue his injures and make sure there were no broken bones piercing the skin or bullet holes that could cause him to bleed out, then he waited another minute to make sure his kidnappers weren’t coming back yet. When he didn’t hear anything he started to work on his bindings. 

***

March 16th. 11:45 AM  
Coventry, Gotham

It all went to shit so fast that Dick couldn’t help but be numbly impressed. 

Dick escaped the basement as quickly as he could with his laboured breathing and what he suspected was an injured collateral-ligament in his knee. He reached the empty living room at the same time as the kidnappers, who looked the right amount of confused and incredulous at discovering him there. The fact that they’d spotted him at all was a blow to his already bruised ego, but Dick could only groan internally. Not knowing exactly what he was going to do next, Dick shifted his weight, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face. 

Then someone cleared his throat and both Dick and his captors tore their gazes to the left, where a man in a red domino and a brown leather jacket was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over a red bat. 

“I’m here to collect your throats,” Red Hood said conversationally, but his tone was off. Dick realised a second too late that it was because Jason was furious.

So fast Dick didn’t even saw him unholster his guns, Jason fired a round of shots around the room, forcing everyone, including Dick, to drop to the ground. 

“Fuck!” Dick swore. 

Having the advantage, Red Hood advanced on them and immediately disabled two of the men’s weapons. Dick, still on the floor, turned his head to witness how Jason brought his steeled-toe boot down on the face of the man laying next to Dick. The sound was horrible.

Dick drew back reflexively and hissed, baring his own blood stained teeth. Red Hood spared him a glance before turning his attention to the man who was still armed. The bullets were mostly stopped by Red Hood’s armour, and he reached out, catching the firearm in his grip and using it as leverage to brutally break the man’s arm. But instead of tossing the weapon he used it to shoot the third man in both arms and both legs.

“Stop!” Dick ordered over the men’s howling and sobbing. 

But it was redundant, Red Hood was obviously done. 

Grabbing Dick from where he was crouched down to the ground in case he needed to fucking drop-kick Jason, his husband dragged him to the firescape and pushed him up the stairs to the roof. Jason’s jaw was clenched shut so hard that Dick could see the two points of tension where his mandibule started.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you,” Jason gritted out, in barely restrained anger. 

Dick wanted to scream at him, years of frustration boiling close to the surface. _Fuck you for hurting people in my name_ , he wanted to yell. _Fuck you for using me to hurt the people I love, for making me care, for_ dying. 

“Call those men an ambulance,” Dick said instead.

“I called it before I went in,” Jason snarled and pushed roughly past Dick. 

As if on cue, sirens began to blare on the street below. Not wanting to give Jason the satisfaction to know how much he’d gotten under his skin, Dick peered down to witness the paramedics readying themselves to enter the apartment. He was nauseous again, it was so bright outside that it jared both of his hangovers, and all he wanted was to go home. But he wasn’t done with Jason, which was an almost hysterical thought now that they were stuck with each other.

“What the fuck was that,” Dick said when he caught up to him, two rooftops later. “Where do I even _begin_?”

He was trembling, he didn’t recall ever being this shaken by violence, this wasn’t even the worst Jason could’ve done. Those men were alive when they’d left. And yet, his knees trembled and he wanted to sit down.

“What if you just _don’t_ , Dick,” Jason growled as he whipped around to face him, one hand raised as if to halt what Dick was going to say, but it came down to his shoulder to stabilize him when Dick stumbled. What was wrong with him?

“What did they give you?” Jason asked, flat and more scary than before. 

“Why did you do that?” Dick slurred, voice hoarse. Everything seemed to slow down, including his heartbeat. Then everything went black.

**

March 16th. 5:30 PM  
Robbinsville, Gotham

“The drugs mixed with the alcohol, stupid.” Was the first thing Jason said when Dick woke up again, this time in his own bed inside his safehouse.

Dick was not surprised to find him perched at the foot of the bed, playing with a baseball he’d gotten from god knows where, and wearing a bored expression.

In the time since Dick had moved into this safehouse Jason had broken in half a dozen times, just to prove that he could. Dick’s apartment in Gotham was outfitted with bat-approved security, which meant that Bruce had installed it himself. He was sure that was the reason Jason enjoyed breaking in a little too much to be healthy. Annoying Dick was just a plus, probably.

Dick made a pitiful noise and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. 

“You look like shit,” Jason said.

“Not on the inside,” Dick grumbled, raising a hand to his head and wincing when the movement jostled all of his injuries. Jason snorted.

"How did you find me?" Dick asked, eyes shut.

"Batman has you microchipped."

"I’m serious." 

"They wanted me to know, Dick," Jason said, the undertone in his voice prompting him to open his eyes and search his face.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “They tried to use me as leverage?” Dick asked.

“Red Hood’s new husband stumbling drunk and alone through dark alleys was too much for them to resist,” Jason said, angry again. 

Even if Dick had wanted to raise to the bait, he physically couldn’t have, his body was sore after so many hours immobile. 

Let Bruce be the one to have the dogfights with Jason, Dick was done with that. It reminded him of Tim years ago, the passive-aggressive remarks he’d thrown at the new Robin that were propelled by an anger even colder than Bruce’s, the hurt in his eyes when he’d looked at Dick after he’d given the Robin mantle to Damian was eerily similar to Jason’s when he looked at Bruce in the early days of the Red Hood’s career.

Dick hadn’t understood more Bruce as a father than when Tim and Damian were swearing that they hated each other and he’d felt it was his fault. Dick didn’t hate Jason, and Jason couldn’t hate Dick as much as he claimed, even after everything, if he’d come for him. 

“You should move your things in soon,” Dick said instead of any of that.

Jason stared at him, expression unreadable. After a long time, so long that Dick started to drift off again, Jason reached into his pocket and presented Dick with a black velvet box. Dick was instantly awake, pulse racing in his ears, something lodged in his throat.

“I bought them just before-” Jason broke off, shaking his head. “Hope it fits.” He deposited the box near Dick’s feet and fled the room. For some reason, Dick found ridiculous that he’d used the door.

Inside the box was a ring, titanium steel with a golden rose band running through the middle; right at the centre there was a diamond, small, reflecting the light like the point of a knife. 

Dick tried it on. Groaning louder than before when it fit perfectly, he let himself drop on the pillows. 

Their marriage was off to a great start.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from No witness by LP  
> If you wanna see the rings: https://bit.ly/2xTUauz  
> Thank you Airdanteine for the updated tutorial for the newspaper skin!


End file.
